


Stand Down the Watch

by missmollyetc



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: M/M, Meet the Minuteman, PWP, This is a hecking depressing game but here we all are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 16:12:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17083532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmollyetc/pseuds/missmollyetc
Summary: Preston has spent the worst year of his life protecting the best part of it.





	Stand Down the Watch

**Author's Note:**

> First Fallout fic! Thanks to Bingeling and thefourthvine for their excellent beta-ing, and to Celli for her encouragement.

After the raiders, and Mrs. Dodge’s rescue, and then the damn _Deathclaw_ , the march to Mama Murphy’s vision of ‘sanctuary’ was downright peaceful. A bit too peaceful, to be honest, and even though it wasn’t a hard slog to what had turned out to be Mrs. Dodge’s settlement—which _actually_ featured Sanctuary in the name—Preston’s skin crawled the entire way. The sun had been high in the sky by the time they’d reached their objective, but not even a good omen like the Minutemen statue standing guard over the Old North Bridge helped calm his nerves.

Preston resettled his grip on his laser musket and continued his slow walk down the broken road in front of him. It was made of that black concrete that tended to crumble once it cracked, and weeds and fallen logs crisscrossed the area they hadn’t cleared. They’d unclogged a good portion of the area beyond the two houses Mrs. Dodge had been using on either side of the road, the blue one for sleeping and the yellow one for a workshop. It’d taken the rest of the day, but they’d needed to do something after being trapped in that museum. Mrs. Dodge had ordered her Mr. Handy to use its buzz saw attachment to get firewood, and Mama Murphy put herself in charge of cooking the meal. It’d been quiet for once, and Sturges had sat him down rather than let him keep watch, nudging at him until he’d eaten a full bowl of silt beans and biscuits. Even Marcy had been too tired to do more than grumble under her breath while she and Jun shared a plate.

He stopped at the perimeter they’d set with a pair of collapsed street lights and his last tripwire and aimed down the sight on his musket. A pack of radroaches skittered west towards the actual edge of the original settlement, but nothing else stirred. He dropped his musket back and to his side. His feet hurt. His boots had needed new soles since Quincy; they were starting to be more hole than leather. 

Preston yawned. The settlement looked better than a lot of pre-bombing sites he’d traveled through; possibly it had been protected from the blasts by the high ground nearby. Sturges was happy with scrap from some of the ruined buildings, and Marcy had already put in an order for a metal bin where she could stick the first couple layers of dirt Jun’d need scraped up before planting. They’d be all right now, maybe. It was a new feeling. Sturges kept telling him he should pay attention to those.

He took a deep breath and slowly let it drift out of his lungs. The air was getting brisk. They’d better hope a trader came down the road before winter. Maybe if they set a watch by that old Red Rocket station Sturges liked so much they could divert one to the settlement.

“The sunset worth your while?”

Preston jumped and spun on his heels. He had his musket half-raised before his brain registered Mrs. Dodge’s blue suit and holstered pistol. He coughed and dropped his own weapon.

“Sorry about that,” he said, and he tipped his hat back. “I guess I’m a little jumpy.”

“I don’t blame you,” Mrs. Dodge said. “From what you told me, this is the first house you’ve found not crawling with those feral ghouls. I’d be nervy too.”

Preston doubted it. They’d met in just the right atmosphere to judge a person’s nerves, and Mrs. Dodge’s looked like they were made out of steel. He’d never heard of a vault dweller like her before. In his experience, they had to be escorted back to Vault 81 before the courier had to be sent with their remains instead. This lady was like something out of a Silver Shroud episode. 

Mrs. Dodge resettled her cap on her head and stepped up to join him at the boundary line. She held her hands crossed behind her back. Her vault suit didn’t fit her quite right, too tight across the chest and hips and loose over the stomach. She was just as tall as him, with tanned skin and long dark hair captured in a braid. He’d never seen her smile yet, but when she spoke he could see a full set of even, white teeth. It could be excused by her coming out of a vault. He had to remember to make a point of that if they came across anybody new. People got suspicious of anyone who looked too healthy these days, what with all those stories about undercover synths running around. 

The dog whined at her feet and nudged her with its nose. She bent down to pet its ears.

“Good boy, Ace,” she said, and rubbed down its back. The dog wagged his tail.

“Ace?” Preston asked. “Thought Mama Murphy called him ‘Dogmeat.’”

Ace huffed, snapped his jaws, and squirmed. Mrs. Dodge shrugged and kept petting him. “What kind of a name is that for a dog? Besides, he likes Batman, too.”

“Who’s Batman?”

Mrs. Dodge paused with both hands in Ace’s thick brown fur. “Nobody important,” she said finally.

Preston frowned. He glanced up and down the road; the perimeter was still clear. “Mrs. Dodge,” he began.

“If I can call you Preston, you can call me Anna,” she interrupted. “Seems silly not to.”

She stood, and Ace settled on top of her feet with his tongue hanging out. She wiped her hands off on her vault suit and looked Preston in the eye. Her eyes were sharp, and even in the dim light he could see the thin crisscrossing scars that covered her face. She reminded him a little of Suni back before the Gunners had sniped her outside the mess hall. He settled his weight onto his heels and looked out to the horizon.

“Fair enough,” he said. 

They stood together for a bit, side by side. It was quiet enough that he could hear the Mr. Handy’s propulsion system as it moved behind them. Not even one of those damn crows in view. The others would be bedding down for the night, or should be. Mama Murphy had a habit of staying up for days, trying to get the Sight to show her a vision without the chems. Marcy and Jun were good sleepers, or at least quiet about being awake. Sturges slept like the dead; he’d probably be asleep by now. Preston rubbed his hand on his musket stock and felt the prickle on his fingers when they got to close to the laser.

“Finally got that neighborhood watch going,” Anna muttered suddenly.

“Sorry?” Preston asked.

Anna shook her head and refocused. Her eyes were open a bit too widely beneath her cap, but she smiled. Preston politely ignored the way she took a minute before speaking again.

“It’s just—” she cleared her throat. “—C’mon. Let’s do a full rotation.”

Preston nodded. “Sounds good.”

They turned around, and began walking back towards the houses they’d set up camp inside. The sun had gone down enough to lower visibility, but Anna kept the light on her Pip-Boy off. The ruined buildings creaked quietly as the wind kicked up.

He kept her in the corner of his eye as he walked. The only footsteps he could hear were his own, and it was downright unnerving. He was sure glad she seemed to be on their side. She’d clearly been something once. Maybe vaults had their own security, but the only other outfit Preston had ever heard of besides the Minutemen were the Gunners, and she didn’t seem the type. Ace barked as they passed the Mr. Handy.

“Good evening, mum!” it called out in its odd accent. “Out for a stroll, eh?”

“Evening, Codsworth,” she said. “Just doing a walkthrough with Preston. Can you keep a watch too?”

“But of course!” Codsworth said.

It floated higher and raised the buzzsaw attachment out from its body. They stepped out of the way as it propelled itself in the opposite direction.

“Protected by a Mr. Handy,” he muttered.

“They’re effective,” Anna said. “Wish I had brought him _and_ Ace when we met up.”

He thought of that buzzsaw again and swallowed. They passed another ruined yellow house and continued on. Sanctuary was a ruin, but it was a nicer ruin than he was used to after Quincy. That creek in the back even looked defensible. 

He rubbed a spot of dried muck off his jacket sleeve. Beside him, Anna had her pistol drawn but at her side. It was nice to have someone trained at his back again; it made something twinge in his chest, like feeling a cramp he’d gotten used to finally start to unwind. 

They walked around the dead end with its big tree in the center, shot a couple of bloatbugs out of its branches, and came back the other way. Ace kept running off behind the houses and coming back with sticks. Anna threw them as they walked. The light dimmed further, and she turned on her flashlight attachment, aiming it at the ground around them. He squinted. There went his night vision.

“Wouldn’t do to trip and break your neck now!” she said.

Preston shrugged. “Suppose not,” he said.

They walked quietly. Preston picked up a rock in his boot and kicked it out through the hole it’d come in on. Ace panted next to him, brushing up against his legs.

Anna raised her hand in a fist, and Preston halted. He raised his musket. “You see something?” he whispered.

She tilted her head to the left. They were just at the edge of the livable blue and yellow houses. Up ahead, Preston could see Codsworth’s jet trail flaring in the distance. 

“I think you can finish up and find a bed,” Anna said. “Codsworth and I can handle it from here.”

Ace barked.

“Codsworth and Ace and I,” she corrected.

Preston shook his head. “You sure about that? We owe you a lot, but I don’t want to impose.”

Her eyes glittered a little in the bad light, and her mouth quirked to the left. “Trust me,” she said. “I’ve got no interest in sleeping right now.”

“We should still take it in turns,” he said. He had a job to do, after all, as long as he was a Minuteman. “We can spread the watch out.”

Anna readjusted the bill of her cap, and the flashlight’s beam hit his eyes. He squeezed them shut, and then blinked through the sparkles in his vision. 

“Sorry about that,” she said. “Look, if I promise to wake you up before I turn in will you go to bed? I have a reliable source that tells me you need your sleep.”

Preston snorted. “Don’t tell me he sent you out here.”

She shrugged. “Maybe it was Mama.”

Preston shook his head. “Sturges worries too much.”

“We should all be so lucky,” Anna said, and she looked him in the eyes.

Preston readjusted his hat and pulled the brim lower. “Yeah well, he likes a project.”

“Go to bed, Preston Garvey,” she said, and nudged him on the arm with her hand.

“Wake me up for my turn, Anna Dodge,” he said.

“ _Fine_ ,” she said, and her mouth quirked again. “Good night.”

“Night,” he said. He raised his hand as he walked towards the yellow house. 

The roofed work area outside the house had a lit lantern on the workbench. He stepped up onto the porch and blew out the wick. He passed through the open threshold into the dark common room, where he could smell candle smoke hanging in the air. A light shone faintly from his left. Sturges’s heavy work gloves lay out on the coffee table near the chairs they’d sat in to eat. 

He dropped his hat on the coffee table and stepped further inside the house. A snuffle drifted out from the right hand hallway, and he tilted his head to listen. The two rooms at the back of the room were dark and quiet enough that he could hear Mama Murphy’s soft snoring. Marcy and Jun were probably in the blue house, indulging in a little well-earned privacy. After so much time living in each other’s pockets, it felt strange not to be able to see them all.

Preston hefted his laser musket in his grip and turned towards the dim light on his left. They’d cleared the debris in the room and piled it against the wall to form paths. Tomorrow they could start breaking it down for scrap, maybe, and seeing what they could build.

The room immediately off the common room had been a cooking area, when there was still electricity to fuel it, but there was enough space for a couple of sleeping bags. Sturges had unrolled and then unzipped them, so that they formed a larger rectangle. He sat nearest the stove, where a couple of candles burned on a plate above him. He’d undone his overalls, but left on his t-shirt; his radio receiver lay unclipped next to his heavy boots. 

Preston felt all the aches and pains of a long march simmering just beneath his skin, and his toes felt like they were threatening to cramp. Sturges had his legs crossed beneath him and the top of his black hair pinned up in a bun with bobby pins. His head was bent beneath his comb. He was the most persnickety man when it came to cleaning his hair. Preston just shaved it off when it got too long and started from scratch. 

Preston clicked the safety on his laser musket, closing the aperture to preserve the fusion cell.

Sturges looked up, still pulling his close-toothed comb through the hair closest to his neck. “Wondered when you were gonna come in from the cold, boss,” he said.

He placed his comb on his knee and undid the bobby pins. His longer hair fell down on his forehead. He stuck the pins on the countertop over his head. 

“I’ve got a patrol in a couple of hours,” Preston said. “We’re gonna take it in turns.”

Sturges nodded and began to comb through the last section of his hair. He’d done it almost twice a week since they’d escaped Quincy’s ruins. He was still too pale for a man with a little tan already in his skin; even though he walked around with his arms exposed all the time, he never really got more brown than he was. They should find him a jacket soon, for the winter. 

Preston walked into the kitchen, propped his musket against the wall, and unbuckled his holster harness. He dropped his harness and belts next to the overlapping sleeping bags Sturges had unrolled for them.

“You’re gonna add me to that watch list, right?” Sturges asked. 

Preston shook his head. “You need your rest,” he said. “We’ve got to put together a salvage—”

“Now if you’re asleep from pacing the night away who’s going to watch my back while I’m salvaging in the morning?” Sturges asked. He put his comb up on the counter with the bobby pins, and leaned back against the stove. He smiled without showing his teeth.

“Anna,” Preston said.

Sturges raised his right eyebrow; his smile drooped. Preston sat down on their sleeping bags to tug off his boots. He set them next to Sturges’s shoes and wriggled his toes in his socks. His pinkie toe had a blister where it’d rubbed through the hole in the knit. He bent his head and cleared his throat. The sleeping bags rustled, and then Sturges leaned his weight against Preston’s back. Preston closed his eyes.

Sturges squeezed Preston’s shoulders with both hands and then carefully tugged him out of his heavy radstag coat. There was a thump as Sturges set it to the side. Sturges rested his forehead on Preston’s shoulder. “I like her too,” he said. “Seems like a real handy lady to have in a fight.”

Preston nodded.

Sturges wrapped his arms around Preston’s front and held him. “But I’m a simple man, boss, I like my routine.” 

Preston felt the ache in his chest and the throb in his arms spread out their tendrils into his muscles and make them tingle. He shivered and Sturges held on more tightly, flexing his biceps. He pressed his lips to the side of Preston’s head. Preston jerked his hands up and grabbed Sturges’s wrists; Preston breathed out once, too harshly for his throat.

Sturges hummed in response. He rocked them slightly, and Preston breathed in again. He stared out into the front room, full of junk they’d need to cart out for the house to be remotely livable. In Quincy, he’d lived in the single person’s barracks, with light and heat, and a good straw mattress. When he’d joined the Minutemen, they’d stood for something. They’d been hope in the wilderness, and now look at them. Look at _him_. The last active duty Minuteman in the Commonwealth. 

Sturges settled more firmly against Preston’s back, and Preston frowned out into the darkness. Once the raiders had busted through the debris Jun and Marcy’d pushed in front of the main entrance, Preston had figured that was it. He’d put up a brave front for the group and barricaded their office door. 

He’d let Sturges make his plans for the power armor none of them could use, because Sturges always had to be doing something, but Preston had known it was finally over. He’d spent the time sniping raiders and staring down at Ray’s corpse, cursing under his breath because how the hell had they forgotten to pick up Ray’s musket and those last damn fusion cells. The size of the raiding party hadn’t left him with a lot of options. It’d been…it’d kind of been good to know he’d finally done all that he could do, even if it hadn’t been enough, just like he’d always suspected. He’d given his last full measure, and the end was coming. He’d go out like Ray had, and all their folk along the way from Quincy’s ashes. He hadn’t believed Mama Murphy when she’d told them help was walking their way.

And then the vault dweller had shown up with her dog. She’d answered his call, picked up Ray’s musket, and put on Sturges’s damn broken power armor. She’d saved them. She’d led them to Sanctuary. Preston’s chest felt a little heavy and his eyes prickled. She was a miracle in combat boots, and he didn’t know how to thank her for it. She’d just… _helped_. It’d been a long time since that had happened.

“We ain’t safe,” Sturges said, and Preston jerked in his hold. His eyes focused on the living area beyond them, the debris and overturned furniture, the broken shelving and muck. Sturges’s grip tightened. “But we got us a start now, don’t we? All of us?” he continued. “And that’s not nothing.”

Preston nodded. He swallowed, hard. “It’s what we wanted,” he said.

Sturges breathed out, long and slow, and leaned back a bit so that now Preston’s weight was partly on him.

“There’s so much to do,” Preston said. “We need to get supplies before the winter and I need to start a watch schedule and…”

Sturges shushed him, like he did when Preston got startled and woke him up at night, and Preston let his voice trail away. Sturges kept hold of him, shifting a bit for comfort, but never letting him more than an inch loose. Preston had gotten used to that on the road. Before the end, he’d seen Sturges around. He’d come in on a caravan from the Capital Wasteland and wound up being the best blacksmith and handyman in town, always ready to help. Made house calls day or night. Suni had said Preston had a crush, but he’d never managed to say more than ‘good morning’ to the man until they were on the run and Preston discovered he couldn’t sleep alone anymore. 

Slowly, Preston let his grip relax on Sturges’s wrists. He pet Sturges’s right forearm, drifting his fingers along the corded muscle to Sturges’s biceps and down to the back of his hand. 

He let his head let fall back and rolled until their foreheads leaned together. Sturges’s long nose pressed into his cheek. A wind blew in through the open window frames. Preston turned his head towards the cold air and sat forward. 

“I saw a bureau in one of the other houses. If we go and get it—”

Sturges groaned a laugh, and then tipped Preston over on his side, taking them both down to their sleeping bags. Preston’s legs flopped out beneath him as Sturges twisted around to his hands and knees above him, bracketing Preston’s knees between Sturges’s own. Sturges’s hair flopped down; he grinned and he shook it out of his eyes.

“Preston, did you or did you not see that the sun is out of the sky and it’s a fine September night?” he asked.

“Well, yes, but I—”

“And we are alone in this house? Just you and me and the candlelight?”

Preston glanced to the right. “Well, there’s Mama…”

“Mama Murphy is on the entire other side of the house,” Sturges said. He leaned forward, bulky shoulders tucking up against his neck as he carefully lowered himself down until Preston could feel the heat of his body, but not the weight. Preston’s breath stuttered in his throat. He swallowed. 

Sturges’s thick eyelashes sunk lower over his big brown eyes. “And she’s not my Mama, neither,” he murmured.

Preston chuckled, quietly, and Sturges’s lips curved upwards. He cupped the side of Preston’s jaw and touched his thumb to the corner of Preston’s mouth. Preston shivered, but his lower back complained. He grunted and Sturges leaned back, leaving a cold spot in his wake. Preston reached up as he moved, and clenched his hands on Sturges’s knees.

“You hurt?” Sturges asked. He frowned, worried. “I thought you were all right.”

“I am all right,” Preston said. He rubbed up and then down Sturges’s thighs. “I’m just a little sore. That was a long march, you know.”

The tight lines on either side of Sturges’s mouth relaxed, and he sat back, planting his weight right on Preston’s hips. Sturges raised his eyebrows, and his hair fell over his face again. Preston’s hand reached up without a thought. He tucked the loose strands of Sturges’s hair behind his ear. He felt a pull of heat, low in his stomach; his cock twitched. 

Sturges was the kind of handsome his father had never warned Preston about, the kind that showed in his eyes and the turn of his jaw and the wide stretch of his mouth. He never stopped helping, even when Marcy screamed in his face to leave her in the ruins. He was the sort of handsome that was just a bit too strong and a bit too clean, and came with a set of good teeth. Preston kept quiet about that part, though. He wanted Sturges to stay, and he wasn’t in the habit of wanting much anymore. He let his hand be caught in Sturges’s; he bit his lower lip when Sturges turned his head and pressed a kiss to his palm. The candlelight lit him like a painting. The sleeping bags rustled beneath them.

Preston pulled his hand away and hooked two fingers into the collar of Sturges’s T-shirt. He tugged lightly, and Sturges swayed, his breathing deepening. Sturges reached out and rested his hands on the top button of Preston’s shirt; the change in position made Preston gasp. He could feel Sturges’s cock pressed snugly against his own. Preston’s hips bucked up, rocking Sturges’s forward. 

“You got an idea?” Sturges asked, and Preston got an elbow under himself in order to arch up and kiss him, firm and close-mouthed.

He leaned back and pulled Sturges down on top of him. He caught Sturges’s upper lip between his own and nipped his narrow cupid’s bow. Sturges arched downward and settled more fully against him. They kissed, slow and a little sloppy, and Preston shivered when Sturges stroked the edges of his ears and behind them to the short dense curls of his hair.

“Yeah, I got an idea,” Preston said, and kissed the corner of Sturges’s mouth. 

Preston pulled Sturges’s shirt up his back and slipped his hands along the dip of his spine. Sturges shuddered and thrust down against him. He felt good and solid against Preston’s front, warm even through all their combined layers of clothing. Sturges cupped the top of his head with both hands and kissed his way down Preston’s neck before raising himself up with a groan.

They pulled away from each other long enough to get Sturges’s shirt off. He stood to ditch his coveralls and boxers, and then got back on his knees to help Preston with his shirt and arming doublet. Sturges undid the clasps underneath Preston’s arms, and then Preston pulled the thick quilted undergarment off the rest of the way.

Sturges’s hands landed on Preston’s skin. He pressed his fingers beneath Preston’s collarbones, and Preston gasped. The knots underneath his skin gave a little under the pressure. He looked up into Sturges’s eyes, mouth hanging open. Sturges tilted his head to the side and smiled.

“How about you turn around for me, boss?” he asked quietly, and dragged his fingers down Preston’s chest, pressing deeply.

Preston groaned and flopped back to the floor. His stomach clenched as Sturges undid his belt, and then the buttons of his pants. He felt Sturges’ hand dip inside his fly; his fingers rubbed over his dick in slow circles, hot through the thin cotton of his underwear. Preston’s breath caught and stumbled out of his throat; he reached out and clutched Sturges’s shoulders.

“That’s it,” Sturges crooned in that funny half-drawled accent he had. He kept rubbing, carefully gentle. “You just let me work that tension right out of you. I’m going to get up, and you can turn over now.”

Preston’s hips twitched, caught underneath Sturges’s weight. He could feel the drool of precome out of his cock, the weight as it thickened, and he shuddered. Sturges’s skin glowed in the candlelight. Sturges scooted back, crouching naked at Preston’s feet while Preston got his limbs under control again and squirmed over onto his stomach.

“You gonna take care of me tonight, huh?” he asked. He shivered as Sturges pulled down his pants and underwear. 

Sturges laughed. “Gonna try.”

Preston heard the soft thump of his clothes being thrown into a corner of the room, and then he felt the heat of Sturges’ body as he kissed the top of his spine and bit the knob of bone there. Preston’s cock stiffened against his stomach, and he felt a bloom of liquid near his bellybutton. He swallowed and licked his lips as Sturges grabbed his shoulders with both of his sturdy hands and bore down.

A groan erupted from deep Preston’s belly and thrust its way out before he could snatch it back. His toes curled against the slick sleeping bag lining. Sturges chuckled and kissed Preston’s shoulder. He kneaded his way down Preston’s back, pressing and pulling at the heavy knots along his spine that never seemed to go away. He dug his thumbs into the worst of them and let Preston cry out, because they were in a kitchen with four walls and a roof, and he could make a little noise now. Preston could let Sturges kiss his back and lick down his spine, undressed more than they’d ever dared. He spread his knees and clenched his hands for balance, and felt his muscles tremble as they relaxed. The heat of Sturges’s hands made up for the lack of oil as he dug in so deeply Preston almost screamed. This time, he caught it before the noise could alarm anyone. He grunted instead, and hissed his breath in and out between his teeth until the worst of the pain was over and only a trembling, heated buzzing was left under his skin. He swallowed. He ached to kiss Sturges.

Sturges kissed the dip of skin right above Preston’s ass, and Preston shuddered. He could feel his own cock, hard and slicking up his stomach. Sturges’ heat blocked out the cold from the windows.

He swayed when Sturges stroked his hands over his ass and into the meat of his thighs, and curled forward when Sturges pushed. Sturges turned him on his side, panting and muttering things Preston couldn’t quite hear. He reached out and caught the back of Sturges’s head, and pulled him forward into a kiss. Sturges fell to his own side with a moan and grabbed Preston’s left arm. He clenched his fingers into Preston’s biceps and sucked Preston’s tongue into his mouth.

Their cocks brushed, and Preston groaned. He tried to hook his leg behind Sturges’s knee, but Sturges broke free and squirmed downwards, pushing off with his right arm. He bit Preston’s hip and licked down the line of his muscle to his belly. Preston’s cock knocked against his chin, and then Sturges opened his mouth and licked right across the slit where Preston’s foreskin had pulled away.

Preston dropped his head to the sleeping bag and gasped as Sturges took him into his mouth. He panted, cold air drying his tongue, and reached out with a shaking hand to grab Sturges by the shoulder. Sturges reached back and entangled their fingers. He hated hands in his hair when he did this, and Preston liked it better this way. It felt like…like they… It felt like holding, like being held, rather than demanding.

Sturges hummed a little and stretched his lips as he moved further up Preston’s shaft, pulling back Preston’s foreskin with one hand and licking just underneath it. Preston shuddered and Sturges laughed. Preston groaned until he wound up chuckling a little, too. He moved his hips shallowly, pushing into Sturges’ tight mouth and backing out again. The heat washed over him again, crawling up from his chest to his throat. He felt his balls drawing up. Sturges pulled back enough to suck lazily at the head of his cock, and Preston caught sight of his face, the flush along his cheekbones and the light in his eyes. Sturges’s mouth slid down again until they met his fingers. He sucked once, hard, and squeezed his fingers. Preston tilted his head back, whining in the back of his throat, and came in a shuddering wash of heat and pressure, tingling from head to toe.

Sturges held him through it, swallowing him down deeply until Preston softened in his mouth. The flashes of heat were starting to burn him, nerves sparking in his fingertips. He gasped into the sleeping bag, feeling sweat on his forehead, as Sturges licked him clean and kissed the head of his cock. 

“Come back up here,” Preston said. Sturges giggled, and Preston closed his eyes.

He smiled and rolled forward when Sturges gathered him up against his chest, and then held on while Sturges rocked against him. He kissed Sturges’s shoulder and tilted his head up to kiss his open mouth. He tasted like come and salt, and Preston flicked his tongue behind Sturges’s teeth to feel him shudder beneath him.

Sturges’s cock felt hot enough to burn when he reached his hand between them and curled his fingers around the shaft. Sturges was cut, and Preston rubbed the little leftover scar. Sturges’s breath stuttered. He broke their kiss and thrust hard into Preston’s grip.

“Ain’t you something,” he whispered into Preston’s mouth. “Just like that, yeah. Just a little tighter.”

Preston clenched his fingers, too hard in his opinion, but Sturges shuddered all over and came, moaning against the side of Preston’s head. They slumped back to the sleeping bags together, filthy and entwined, and Sturges sucked the skin behind Preston’s ear until it almost hurt. He kept trying that, even though the hickey never showed on Preston in the morning because he was too dark skinned.

They lay there, watching the candlelight start to sputter. Candles were expensive; they really should have put them out. Preston squinted at the empty cupboard in front of him. There was so much still to do. They had a settlement to make, and they needed to block the access through the Old North Bridge. Marcy and Jun needed to start planting. He needed to find a source for more ammunition. Sturges needed…

Sturges sighed, and pulled him in close, even though they were already wrapped around each other. He traced circles on the back of Preston’s head with his fingertips, and Preston ducked his head against Sturges’ shoulder.

“You don’t gotta sleep, Preston,” he said. “But you do gotta stay with me, you hear?”

“Sorry,” Preston said. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Preston took a deep breath. He rested his weight on Sturges when Sturges rolled onto his back, and drummed his fingers on Sturges’s side. Sturges drew his hand up and over Preston’s shoulders. The light flickered in the corner of Preston’s eyesight. There was one candle still burning. He’d get up and blow it out in a minute.


End file.
